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When you read this The storm will have passed The fire extinguished The fight far behind. When you read this Your wounds will have healed Your pain scabbed over Your … Continue reading When You Read This

She burnt away, rotting from within
Until all that was left was ceramic skin
Perfectly painted with only one crack
Just below the knee, a hole of deep black
The only blemish on a porcelain doll,
Showing inside she was nothing at all
But empty and hollow, full of dead space
A vacuous vacuum with a manufactured face
No love in her heart, nothing in her head
AnaMia’s glassy eyes already felt dead
But she still smiled a fixed, painted grin
Because now that doll was finally thin.

‘Twas the night before NaNoWriMo and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The writing desk by the window was tidied with care,
In hopes that inspiration soon would be there;
Characters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of plotlines danced in their heads.

The characters were so quiet, not a whistle or peep,
And had just settled down for a long creative sleep—‌
When out on the desk there arose such a clatter,
They sprang off the page to see what was the matter.

Away to the window they flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The light on the page looked like new fallen snow,
They saw something dark spreading below;
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a letter, quickly forming- large and clear,
With another following, so easy to decipher,
They knew in a moment it must be their writer.

More rapid than eagles the words they came,
And they whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:“Now! Characters, now! Plot, now! Problems and Solution,On! Tension, on! Motivation, on! Conflict and Resolution;
“To the start of the prologue! To the top of Chapter One!
“Now finally. Finally. Our story has begun!”

The writer had sat down with a goal that she could say
Was one thousand six hundred and sixty seven words a day
And laying her fingers to the keyboard
And writing, nearer her goal she soared.

She’d logged her progress as a NaNoWriMo member,
And the word count grew, until at the end of November:
She had a draft of 50,000 words in her sight ‌Happy NaNoWriMo to all, and to all a good write!

So, I’m attempting NaNoWriMo this year- if anyone else is doing it let me know and we can be buddies 🙂

Author: Clara Ross

There’s something in the way you move that reminds me of him. It flickers across your face and changes you. Momentarily. And then you are back.

I wonder if it’s co-incidence or if my masochistic subconscious latched on to it as we fell in love. Worse still, I wonder if you picked it up from me. If I’ve been unwittingly carrying him in the way I hold myself.

It scares me sometimes in a way I struggle to explain. I have to remind myself that bad people have good traits too. And that some bad traits wore the masks of good ones and I shouldn’t hold the good ones responsible for that.

But it’s hard.

When you say, How was your day? What did you get up to? I hear, You better have a good excuse for not being here today. And you better not leave again any time soon.

Abuse can wear the face of concern. And now both of them give me chills.